Sound The Death Knell

Prologue

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'Avada Kedavra'.

At the tender age of six years, Hariel Potter was mentally capable of wrapping her mind around several concepts. The idea of having to work for her relatives, her Aunt, Uncle and cousin was one of relative simplicity. Her name, Hariel Lillian Potter; an even more uncomplicated notion. But the words that marked her skin, words that marked everyone's skin, were what she found herself thinking more and more upon these days. The words had appeared on her sixth birthday, as they did with every other child of the human race. Dudley had gotten his a month prior, and Aunt Petunia had sung the bulbous boy praises, sprouting how she knew her Dudley was going to be destined for the most beautiful, perfect soulmate in the world.

The look she's given Hariel after she's voice these thoughts clearly showed her aunt most certainly did not consider her worthy of such a thing. That perhaps Hariel Lillian Potter did not deserve a soul mate.

As a result, the fire in her tiny chest, hidden behind the relative safety of her small rib cage, only burned brighter, flared hotter with desire for her own words to appear. To see the words of her soul mate printed across her skin.

She prayed her future match would have elegant handwriting, that he or she would speak meaningful words upon their meeting.

Nothing like 'A pint of bitter for me' that wrapped around Petunia's wrist, from her days working a bar job as a young student. A job that saw her meet her soulmate, Vernon Dursley. Aunt Petunia wore it like a bracelet, but all Hariel could ever see were the black links of a shackle, tying her aunt forever to Vernon's rounded form.

Dudley's was somewhat more pleasant, both in placement and the words them self. Scrawled across his left collarbone, in looping, overly girly writing were the words 'Is this the Armitage Ward?'. Petunia was of the opinion Dudley's match would come about in a hospital, deluding herself into the idea that her little Dudders would become a doctor in the future. Hariel, who'd seen the so called 'Dr Dursley' attempting to preform a lobotomy with nought but a crayon and his own nasal passageway, was more of the opinion Dudley would be bumping into her as a visitor. Probably regarding Uncle Vernon's impending heart problems. There was no way the man wouldn't end up in hospital considering his daily intake.

But Hariel didn't care too much to ponder upon Dudley's words right now, not when her own were currently etched so prettily across her skin.

In a flowing, dark green script were two words, both completely foreign to her. 'Avada Kedavra'.

Tracing her fingers over the markings that'd appeared on the inner wrist of her left arm, running halfway down the forearm and coming to a stop just before her curve of her palm began, the dark haired child frowned. Such strange words.

Was her soul mate of a different country? Would she travel to meet him, or would he be visiting her homeland? She was sure her soul mate was male, something in her stomach called out an certified this fact. The handwriting on her limb seemed to support her theory. While it was clearly very well defined, precise and sharp script, there was something about the letters that belayed the fact their writer was male, Hariel wasn't sure how she knew, she just did. They were gorgeous words though, and she would be looking into them the second she could. But first...

Picking up the bandages that were resting upon the small shelf of her humble abode, Hariel began to methodically wrap them tightly around her forearm. Soul markings were to be shared only with family, never to be shown to another until the words had been spoken. Her Aunt had made it awfully clear she couldn't possibly careless when it came to Hariel's markings.

And Hariel was more than happy to share that train of thought.

She didn't want to share her words. Not with her aunt, not with anyone. They were her's and her's alone. These markings on her arm, those two little words were her certainty that there was in fact someone out there for her. Not for anyone else, but for her. This person, whoever they may be, had her syntax, wore in across their skin as she did their's. She was tied to another person in this world, and nothing her family could say would ever lead her to doubt that now.

She dreamed of an impressive soul mate, so she was going to damn well make sure that whatever she expected of her significant other, Hariel Lillian Potter was going to be just as impressive.

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It was at the age of eleven that Hariel Lillian Potter's world came crashing down.

"C-can you repeat that?"

Hagrid, the giant of a man who'd knocked down the worn wooden oak that'd once been the door of a shack in the sea, frowned behind his wild hair and beard combo that looked more of a curly, messy mane than anything else. The beedle black eyes blinked slowly, brow furrowing.

"S'not summat ya should be askin' 'bout 'Arry."Her nickname, Harry. According to Hagrid, that was what her parents had called her, even though Hariel was only a sole syllable longer. That didn't matter to her though, if Harry was what her parents had referred to her as, then from this moment on Harry she would be.

"Why not? If this attack can kill me with one hit, I'd like to know the name of the spell I'm dodging." Hariel had known of magic, had felt this pulsating power coursing through her body all her life.

There had only been one time she'd used it against another though. While she'd practised levitating things before, changing the thin jacket she's been given into a thick, waterproof coat, there had only been one time she'd ever really hurt someone. Aunt Petunia had tried to take her to a cosmetic surgery, one that specialised in removing soul marks. Usually it was for those who's soulmate hadn't lived up to expectations, those who's other were already married, or jailed. Those who didn't want a soulmate.

Hariel had made her aunt hurt for daring to try and take away her words. The Dursleys hadn't really bothered her again after that, far too fearful of the unnatural wrath that would rain down upon them should they do so.

"Right, well, listen carefully 'cause I'll only be saying it once. Ta killing curse is Avada Kedavra."

And just like that Hariel's perceived future went up in flames.

The life of an orphan was hard. Not on the body, not at all, they suffered no more than any other working class child in regards to physical health.

No, it was the mind that took the most damage when it came to being raised in an orphanage. Nothing was certain when it came to the life of an orphan, little to no stability could be found in such conditions.

However, there was only thing that every orphan aged six or above could say with absolute confidence. They had a soulmate. They carried markings, words crudely scrawled across their body that offered them one surety. That they would all have a chance at happiness someday.

Tom Marvolo Riddle did not believe in soul markings.

The idea that he had no choice when it came to the one human being he was supposedly able to stand, that his future was in anyway predetermined, left him with a nauseous twist in his stomach and a frosted ice coating the rest of his innards. He refused to be controlled, for he was better than all the others who shuffled about around him.

Power ran through his veins, sang as it coiled through his body with all the grace of a smooth stalking predator. He was in no way like the masses, who tripped over themselves for a chance to find the one person who would make everything okay.

An illusion, one that tore away at a person's reasoning and twisted their perspective until one being to think in terms of 'we' instead of 'I'. Personal survival was lost in a tangled mess that was the soulmate relations.

He would not fall into this trap.

He was better than them, than all of them. Yet that still didn't explain that when Tom woke up on the sunrise of December 31st 1932, the arctic morning air was forced from his lungs at the twisting words that ran along the edge of his ribs.

Words, a sentence, curved gracefully along the lowest bone of his rib cage upon the right hand side. The words though, we're different. He should have expected no less, considering that he was so much more than those he was forcibly surrounded by. Wrote in a dulled silver and flecked with a light dusting of gold, were the words he would supposedly hear from his soulmate. The appearance of the syntax was gorgeous, even if the penmanship could use a little work. However...

They just didn't make sense.

'Tom? Tom, we have to go, there's a Basilisk' So his soulmate would know of him when they speak for the first time, that much he could deduce.

But a basilisk? He's never heard of it before.

Which meant there was a hole in his knowledge, a hole he desperately needed to fill, as it would clearly come in useful in the future regardless of his opinion on the whole soulmate situation.

And with that, Tom got to work.

.

He didn't understand.

The Basilisk had been right there, terrorising the school. And he'd waited, waited for the pin to drop, for the one person he'd built so much hope and curiosity up for to gather the information, to realise what was happening and come find him. But the weeks had dragged on by, a student had died and suddenly the school was being threatened.

While Tom may have cared to find out his soulmate, a begrudging curiosity to see what the world was throwing at his feet, he cared more for Hogwarts. Cared more when it came to avoiding Wool's.

So when he closed the Chamber of Secerts, it wasn't the only thing to be sealed that day.

The idea of ever having a soulmate, that too was locked back in the far recesses of his mind, never to be touched again. Even though he'd told himself time and time again that the markings meant nothing, that he cared little for another human being and that he most certainly could live without ever having known about them, the sharp sting of predicted betrayal cut deep. Stung like salt in an open wound.

He'd tried to create the perfect circumstances for his soulmate to show up in, and this was what he had gotten for his efforts.

He was done with soulmates.

There were more important things to be done, like his future Horcruxes to focus on. Tom Riddle promised himself he'd never try searching for them again.

He did not care.

So, it's Valentine's Day, I'm lonely -no surprises there- and about to go out hunting for cheap chocolate. I hope this cheer up anyone in the same situation then.

Tsmue

xxx